


Acolyte

by impish_nature



Series: Imptober [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, aziraphale is not an angel, chosen faces au, crowley still loves him, humans dont know what theyre dealing with, warning for blood and possible body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26901043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impish_nature/pseuds/impish_nature
Summary: Set in @sightkeeper‘s Chosen Faces AU.An unwelcome visitor to the shop makes Aziraphale rip off his mask and show everyone just what he truly is.Crowley will not stand for this.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Imptober [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949311
Comments: 6
Kudos: 90





	Acolyte

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SightKeeper (GarrulousGibberish)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarrulousGibberish/gifts).



> To help with this fic if you would like more context for the AU  
> https://twitter.com/hashtag/chosenfacesau

"Tea?"

"How could I refuse?"

Crowley, busying himself with cups and drinks, preened as lips brushed his cheek, a grateful warm peck that he gladly took and leaned into. But before he could reciprocate, the other backed away from him, setting up the small kitchen table for their impromptu lunch date behind him. He could hear the clack of crockery and cutlery, the soft hum drum of domesticity that he drank in greedily, happily addicted to the shift their world had taken. He tried not to smile too widely at the small trills of joy from behind him as Aziraphale opened the bakery boxes one by one, finding all the spoils of Crowley's foray into the bustling London café that Aziraphale loved so much.

"Oh. You do spoil me, dear."

"Nah." Crowley threw back over his shoulder at the chastising tone, cheeky grin well and truly glued to his face. It was obvious when there was no sincerity in Aziraphale's words, as much as he tried to scold him, and he refused to let him play this game. "I give you exactly what you deserve, Angel." 

"Is that so? Well-" 

Whatever Aziraphale had been about to quip back to him was cut off by the sudden chime of the front door opening.

Crowley turned to him again, ever so slightly, just enough to catch his eye. His eyebrow raised slowly as he looked over his glasses at him to convey every ounce of exasperated disbelief he had in him.

"...I was sure I flipped the closed sign."

"Uh huh?"

Aziraphale huffed, looking for all the world like his feathers had been ruffled as he smoothed down his jacket. "I did! Blasted customers and ignoring signs-"

"I, for one, think you just got distracted by the thought of lunch and forgot."

Crowley chuckled as Aziraphale walked away, deigning him with a withering look as an answer before scowling deeply and shuffling into the public space of the book shop. He rolled his eyes, turning back to the kettle, sure that the poor person who had interrupted them was about to have a rather stern lesson about etiquette.

If he wasn't entirely convinced that it was Aziraphale's fault and the sign _wasn't_ set to closed like he so obviously thought it was then he'd have had half a mind to go do it himself. But then again- he was completely sure that whoever it was out there was about to be completely blindsided by the fire that was his irrational angel.

So instead, he minded his own business- just this once- and pottered along with his own task, safe in the knowledge that a bashful Aziraphale would slink back in a few moments and he'd be able to playfully tease him with the faux pas for at least a little bit before their date. He found himself sighing happily at the scent of his favourite coffee, one that Aziraphale always made sure to have well stocked for him, as he waited for the other's inevitable shamefaced return.

He should have realised something was wrong when he didn't hear an immediate and startled apology from the shocked patron.

He blinked, a fizzle of energy sparking at the hairs on the back of his neck, pulling him from his languid thoughts and making him stand up straight. It was a strange energy, moving in odd stilted motions across his flesh like it had a mind of its own, and his tongue unconsciously slipped out to taste the air in response. It wasn't a familiar tang at the back of his throat; nothing like the mess of sulphur that accompanied demons, nor the sharp clear ozone that preceded an angelic intervention. 

This felt... older. 

Less definable. 

It didn't sit in a clear cut box and refused to stay still long enough- morphing and twisting, breaking and bending- for him to really catch hold of it.

And sure this wasn't entirely new- he'd come to terms with the fact that _technically_ his angel wasn't what he had made himself out to be. That maybe 'angel' wasn't a term that he should be called but suited him nonetheless. He'd worked harder than any of them to become one, to exist peacefully among them, never being caught out, so who was he to deny him that moniker? Especially when, in reality, all of them in their lofty ivory towers could never compare to Aziraphale?

Regardless though, Aziraphale's miracles were familiar to him. They were laced with everything he wished for, propped up with love and hope, and wrapped up so tightly that they were almost indistinguishable from any other miracle any of _them_ might choose to perform. 

So Angelic or not- this was not Aziraphale. 

His pupils contracted, vision sharpening to points as his hackles raised. 

There was a threat in the bookshop. One fuelled with energy that tasted of soil and stardust, and smelt of something archaic that he couldn't quite put his finger on. It stretched back, eons and eons, barely definable even to his long time walking the earth, and filled him with a dread that seemed to seep in from outside rather than inwards, ringing through his ears as if he was hearing something he was never meant to hear.

Whatever this was, it meant to cause fear, meant to latch on and linger, cold and cloying so that fighting back was futile. 

It sharpened like a lightning bolt, a crackle of energy that caused goose bumps to dance across his skin.

And just as quickly, the energy abated, a loud yelp and a sudden thud from the adjoining room cutting the strings that it had held him by.

" _Angel_." He spun wildly, limbs moving faster than his brain really allowed, as gnawing, aching fear bit into his chest and ignited his nerves.

Whatever it was, it wasn't after him.

He propelled himself into the bookshop, refusing to let his brain stop him and try to persuade him to take a better route; no thoughts on safety or ambush able to coalesce when Aziraphale was in dire danger. He didn't care how much noise he was making, nor what he was walking into, only that he got there in time to help. 

Actions which promptly had him skidding to a halt as he took in the scene before him with utter perplexity.

They were just... _humans_.

Though at this moment, he knew better than to underestimate them, even if none of this made any sense at all.

They might not be Angels or Demons, but in this instant, they were humans who had somehow managed to bring Aziraphale to his knees. Without a struggle, without an injury to themselves. Three humans standing over his Angel, who had his arms curled around his waist in obvious pain, legs useless and splayed beneath him. He was breathing heavily, listing forward so that he could only stare down at the ground. He looked on the verge of collapsing, swaying ever so slightly with each exhale. Crowley swallowed painfully at the sight, not sure what to do or how to help, especially when the humans seemed to have frozen at the sight of him as well.

"What's... going on?"

Aziraphale groaned, one hand dropping to the floor to keep him from crumbling entirely. "The _book_." The words came out garbled, pained hisses through gritted teeth, but there was also something else there, something Crowley had never heard before. It was like a reverb, a tight distortion, like his mask was slipping and his human vocal chords couldn't keep up with the manifestation that might soon follow.

And as much as Crowley wouldn't care about him shucking those restraints, he refused for it to be forced by _anyone_.

His eyes snapped to the central figure, the book open in his hands. He hadn't even noticed it, body too focused on checking on Aziraphale, but now he knew what was causing him pain, he wouldn't be taking his eyes off of it or the one holding it anytime soon.

The man glared back at him disdainfully, grunting to the other men behind him. "Great, it has an acolyte. Should have guessed it wouldn't be alone. One of you make sure he doesn't get in the way, while I finish the ritual."

He was so... nonchalant, so calm, as if the fight had already been won. As if Crowley wasn't a threat at all and he'd already broken Aziraphale to the point of no return.

Crowley wanted to sink his fangs into him. 

_How dare he_.

Quick as a flash he was in front of the man, the book crashing to the floor in shock as he backed him up against a bookcase. His forearm locked against his throat, pinning him tightly as he bared his teeth.

"Who do you think you're calling an _acolyte_?"

The words came out as a harsh hiss, forked tongue lashing out to punctuate the words. His adversary- prey- paled, the colour leeching from him as his jaw slackened.

"Shit! It's another one! Grab the book!" 

He felt more than saw as one of the others launched for it. He snapped his fingers quickly, the book vanishing from sight with a soft puff of air, and the man who had pounced for it smacked painfully into the wooden floor. Crowley made sure to kick him for good measure to drive home the point that it would be best for him to stay down and instead turned his gaze to the last remaining enemy, one eyebrow raised, practically begging him to try something. Fortunately for him, though rather disappointing for Crowley's vicious urges, he seemed intelligent enough to know that they weren't winning this round. 

Not intelligent enough to have not come on this foolhardy mission in the first place, but that wasn't something Crowley really cared about.

He let his head roll forward again to stare at his still held victim. He wanted answers, but before he had a chance to ask for them the man seemed to shake himself, stuttering out a mantra through his constricted throat.

The ringing returned to his ears, the loamy breeze of power fluttering on the edge of his senses as it brushed ineffectually past him and dissipated into nothing. 

He pushed forward further, watching the fear cross the other's face as his words did nothing and his throat closed all the more. Crowley's grin turned vicious, his free hand slowly removing his glasses to give the man the full force of his sharp slitted gaze.

"Oh, you really have no idea what you're dealing with, do you?"

Brimstone simmered around his sharp edges, bubbling out of his very core and seeping into reality. His anger hissed out of him with every breath, smoke and ash billowing between sharp fangs, and igniting the air around him. It was hard to contain when he could still hear the pained gasps and stuttered breaths behind him. It would be so easy to be done with this, to tear them to pieces for what they had done and rush to Aziraphale's side. But he wasn't sure that would be the end of it. He needed to know what they had done. Needed to know if killing them would break whatever spell it was that coiled through his lover's bloodstream. 

But even as he tried to think clearly, to pull back, he could feel his teeth baring, the points growing thicker and sharper as scales erupted down his spine, ready to snap and lash out, his body poised to spring into action at the smallest hint of movement. 

The man in his grasp choked, the sound a diminutive wheeze as he thrashed half-heartedly at his arm. 

The sound seemed to grab someone else's attention.

"Cr-Crowley, stop."

Crowley tried to swallow the viscous anger lodged in his throat, the constricting mass that wanted him to snarl and hiss instead of vocalise his thoughts cohesively. "Why should I?"

"Because I-I need-"

And just like that the anger broke.

Nothing mattered more than what Aziraphale needed. 

Crowley took a step back, letting the man drop, panting and heaving, to the floor in a heap. "Don't move." His head snapped to the only one still standing, who flinched, cowering at the sudden movement. "That goes for you too."

And with that warning given, he ignored them all, rushing to Aziraphale's side, the desperate need to do so finally winning out now that he'd been called for. He knelt before him, pulled him up to prop against his arms from his curled position, and stared deeply into his eyes, willing him to let him help. "What do you need, love?" His gaze shifted from place to place, swallowing down the burn of fury that wished to take hold of him again. He took in the pallid complexion, the sheen of sweat across his brow- the white glow of barely restrained power illuminating his eyes. He combed his hand through his hair, slipping an out of place curl back behind his ear even as it vibrated against his fingers. "I'm here, what do you need?"

"I need-" Aziraphale swallowed, closing his eyes as another spasm of pain swept through him. He cursed. "They've set off a chain reaction. I can't- I need to _heal._ " He said the word like it left a bad taste in his mouth, like the mere suggestion was disgusting, too disturbing to even think about.

"That's good. Healing is good." The words came out of him fast, pouring out in a thick wave of comfort as he ran a hand up and down Aziraphale's twitching arm. "So what do we need to do, to do that?"

Aziraphale took a deep breath in, steeling himself as he locked eyes with Crowley, determined and commanding. "You need to leave." The moment broke just as quickly as he looked away from him, face guilty and pained. "B-But make-" He winced, eyes screwed shut. "Make sure they can't."

That... wasn't what he had been expecting.

"I'm not leaving you alone with them."

There was no debate in his assertion. It was as simple as needing air to breathe. Aziraphale was not dealing with this alone, plain and simple.

Aziraphale's shaking hand found his, where it had dropped to the floor, and gave it a soft squeeze. "I... I don't want you to see me- not... not like that." 

_Oh_.

Of course.

As much as Crowley knew, Aziraphale still only ever showed him the face that he had chosen. 

But right now, he wasn't sure whose benefit that was for.

Crowley turned his hand so that their palms were together, giving a tighter, reassuring squeeze in return.

"Whatever you need to do, I'm not going to judge you. They attacked _you_."

Aziraphale growled, a deep reverberating sound that vibrated through Crowley's teeth and made his jaw ache, echoing with the power of all the eons that he had kept it in check. His bright glimmering eyes locked with Crowley's, a sudden surge of power breaking through the pain as he tried to desperately convey everything that he was trying to, with as little words as he could stand to force through gritted teeth.

"Crowley. I need- I need to _feed_."

Crowley stared right back at him, feeling the energy in the room shift and bend ever so slightly. There was a spike of fear behind him, but the pair just continued to stare at one another, ignoring them as they silently questioned each other. Aziraphale seemed to be waiting for his permission, some kind of sign, his eyes glowing brighter and his aura stretching further and further around them, tendrils slipping unseen through the air to slink and shuffle towards his meal. But it was obvious from the hesitance, the slowly permeating atmosphere, that he would go no further than this until either Crowley left or approved.

So Crowley gave him exactly what he needed.

The locks to the doors and windows clicked loudly one by one, snapping to attention as the curtains closed and the room descending into an unnatural darkness.

Crowley's eyes gleamed gold in the light that Aziraphale cast off, the moon reflecting the suns rays, locked in their own miniature universe. 

"Then feed."

It was like a switch flicked with his words.

The room hushed, a cold dampness filling up the empty spaces. The white light took on a strange unnatural hue, a shift that made Crowley's eyes burn ever so slightly like he was seeing something he shouldn't; colours that he had no right to perceive. It was an intangible thing, like they had slipped to the bottom of the ocean and it was clogging up his senses, his lungs filling with water, the taste of salt sticking to the roof of his mouth and the back of his throat with every uncomfortable suffocating breath. 

And before him Aziraphale was an angler fish, eyes bioluminescent as they grounded him in place, humbled him as he powerlessly knelt against the wooden floor.

But he didn't feel afraid, not like he was sure that he was supposed to.

Aziraphale watched him intently, eyes flicking ever so as if drinking it all in. He felt seen, in a way he never had before, so very vulnerable if it weren't Aziraphale that was reading every inch of his psyche. But instead he just saw his Aziraphale, not a monster, not something wishing to tear him down piece by piece. This wasn't some horrifying realisation or proof, it was just- Aziraphale. So, he stared back at him defiantly, his heartbeat thudding in his chest and willed him to see deeper, to know that no matter what happened here, nothing between them would change. He would still see him as he was, he accepted all of him, angel or not. 

And with that acceptance bleeding out of every pore, Aziraphale leaned in for a kiss, far more biting than he ever had before.

"Please _try_ not to look, my dear."

And with that, Aziraphale stood. It was a disjointed affair, like his body was a puppet that he was haphazardly forcing along strings he was unfamiliar with. Crowley found it hard to look at him, though still tried, regardless of Aziraphale's soft plea. The image doubled, tripled, conjoined, overlapping versions of him that snapped back to one solid piece only to melt apart all over again in strange erratic bursts. There was a buzzing at the base of his skull, growing louder and louder the more he stared even as the other walked past him without looking back. 

He could still see his Angel, at the centre of the haze of power, but it was hard to keep track of him amongst all the sweeping swirls of that same strange power that he had felt from the book before. It was still inherently Aziraphale however. The sharp smell of ozone still slipped through the air at intervals to mix with the scent of earth and that same solid tang of archaic power that reminded him of the darkness before the stars.

And even though he knew he should be horrified, should be fearful of all that Aziraphale was, he couldn't help but notice the hints that made this power so _him_. Where the book had smelt of dirt and decay, this felt like _life_. Soil after the rain, cut grass- 

The mingling energy of an eldritch being that so desperately wanted to choose to be good-

An angel that had earned his place-

Crowley couldn't ignore all of that, just because of what he was underneath his mask, when you peeled back the layers to his core. 

Because underneath all those layers, he was still just Aziraphale- plain and simple.

And these people had hurt him.

What kind of demon would he be, if he didn't encourage him to defend himself? To punish them for their sins?

A sharp cry brought him back to reality.

He didn't really know what was happening, only seeing Aziraphale's back, moving in and out of focus, but whatever he was showing to the humans was making quick work of their mental states. They seemed to be contorting, doing everything they could to move away from the view before them but with nowhere to go.

More fool them for trying to hurt him.

The buzzing in his ears came back the longer he stared, stretching around his skull in a band of vibrating discomfort. Perhaps it wasn't what they saw so much as the aura that he was producing, the energy pouring out of him in waves that hit him the longer he tried not to blink. One by one, the men crumpled without so much as being touched and he heard the breath in that Aziraphale took, the one that seemed to suck the life in with it and pulled at his essence in an uncomfortable manner.

The atmosphere slowly dissipated, as if the plug had been pulled out and it was spiralling inwards, withdrawing back into Aziraphale's frame as he took another unsteady step and started to collect himself. Crowley felt something warm run down his neck, shivering at the sensation as he rubbed at it in disgusted confusion. 

"I told you not to look, dear."

Aziraphale sighed, shaking his head exasperatedly before looking at him with concern and slight worry.

"You told me to try." Crowley gave him a toothy grin, before glancing down at the red, viscous liquid he was smearing around his fingertips. "Didn't expect to bleed from it."

"Well, I wasn't quite sure what I would do to a demon." Aziraphale was in front of him in an instant, eyebrows furrowed as he produced a handkerchief and began to run it over Crowley's neck and up towards his ears. "As you can see, I drive humans quite mad. Not that I make that a habit." 

"Angel." Crowley's hand found his, making him look him in the eye for the first time. "I know that. You wouldn't have done this if you didn't need to."

Aziraphale's hand shook beneath his, the handkerchief dropping to the floor before he leant forward resting their foreheads together. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to- whatever they did to me _hurt_. I've never felt like that before, so close to actually- and I couldn't just heal like I normally would, I needed to give in to-"

"Shh." Crowley pulled him in closer. "Shh, It's OK." 

"It's _not_ but thank you." Aziraphale pulled back, still shaking. "We need to deal with them-"

"Not right now." 

Aziraphale huffed. "At least let me seal that book up."

"Can't. It's already burning." 

" _Crowley_." Aziraphale gave him a disappointed glare. "You can't just burn a book like that. It's probably one of a kind, rarer than most books I have in here."

"Yeah, well, I let you do what you had to do, _so_ -" Crowley punctuated his sentence, drawing the word out petulantly, before looking back up at him. "-you'll have to let me do what I have to do too." His face softened, concern filtering through as he cupped Aziraphale's cheek. "I don't want anyone to be able to hurt you like that ever again."

Aziraphale melted against his palm, Crowley inwardly crowing at the victory. "Alright, you do have a point. Perhaps I should let you dispose of similar parchments I have hidden away throughout the years." 

"Sounds like a plan, but one for later. For now-" Crowley gave him a grin as Aziraphale tiredly looked back up at him. 

"How about we have that lunch we were meant to be having?"


End file.
